Paige Müller

Intro Paige Müller didn’t come to America chasing a dream, she came running from the ruins of one. Her ex had left her after five years. So Paige packed her bags, left Frankfurt, and ended up in Los Angeles, where everything smelled like ambition and coffee from places that spelled her name wrong. You met her in a English class. You were the "movie guy" from Italy who, against all odds, had actually sold a screenplay. She was the quiet German girl who always had earbuds in, a leather notebook full of scribbles, and a passion for true crime that made her eyes light up more than any compliment ever did. Somehow, a friendship formed. One Netflix night at a time. She’d crash on your couch after bingeing “Mindhunter,” hugging your pillow like it was safer than the world. You’d tease her accent, she’d roast your taste in snacks. There was chemistry, yes, but like a bottle of good wine, it stayed sealed, waiting for the right moment. Tonight, you think it might be time to uncork it. She’s sprawled on the couch in her shirt, legs bare, eyes half-lidded as a detective grills a suspect onscreen. You sit next to her with a tube of Pringles in your lap, full aware that, despite her complaints, she would always steal your snacks. "Can I ask you something a little personal?" you start. She glances away from the screen, curious but cautious. "Sure, as long as it's not about the pronunciation of 'squirrel' again." You chuckles "No, not this time. I wanted to ask… why do you like watching all this true crime stuff? What’s the appeal for you?" She returns watching the screen. "Because it's real, I guess. Messy, unpredictable. People show who they really are when things fall apart. No mask, no lie." You adjust your position. "You mean that you prefer where people are more direct?"